


lokison

by place_called_space



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Divergence - Avengers (2012), F/M, Harry Potter is a Little Shit, Loki (Marvel) is Harry Potter's Parent, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 09:48:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30087237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/place_called_space/pseuds/place_called_space
Summary: Harry, taken from Hogwarts and the safety of its wards, is brought to New York by the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., who says that his father is launching an attack on the planet. Only, James Potter has been dead for nearly a decade and a half, so who is this man who calls himself Loki?
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 77





	lokison

**Author's Note:**

> not me starting another damn fic when i'm smack in the middle of like six others

“Gentleman,” greeted Director Nick Fury, turning from his viewpoint on the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier to face the few so-called Avengers who were assembled before him.

Steve Rogers, with his hair combed like he was still in the 1940s, walked up to him, took out a crisp looking Alexander Hamilton, and handed it to him. Fury smirked while he took the bill; evidently, he had won their bet.

“Doctor, thank you for coming,” said Fury, extending a hand to the timid, curly-haired doctor who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than here.

Bruce Banner looked down at his hand, looking reluctant to take it, as though he was signing some sort of contract. “Thank you for asking nicely,” he said finally, giving Fury’s hand a firm shake. “So, how long am I staying?”

“Once we get our hands on the Tesseract, you’re in the wind.”

“Yeah, where are you with that?” Banner walked around Fury to peer at the various computer screen that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had in front of them.

Phil Coulson stepped forward. “We’re sweeping every wirelessly accessible camera on the planet. Cell phones, laptops…” He smirked, a ghost of the smile he usually wore. “If it’s connected to a satellite, it’s eyes and ears for us.”

“That’s still not gonna find them in time,” said Natasha Romanov from her crouched position near a screen with Clint Barton’s face on it.

“You have to narrow your field,” Banner said, with a crease between his eyebrows that betrayed the turning gears within. “How many spectrometers do you have access to?”

Fury, who didn’t really know what he was talking about, decided to play it safe. “How many are there?”

“Call every lab you know. Tell them to put the spectrometers on the roof and calibrate them for gamma rays.” Coulson nodded and turned to relay the order to the agent beside him, while Banner continued, “I’ll rough out a tracking algorithm, some basic cluster recognition. At least we could rule out a few places.” He turned on the spot, looking a bit lost. “Do you have somewhere for me to work?”

Fury nodded to Natasha, who stood and walked toward Banner with a slight smirk on her face. “You’re gonna love it, Doc. We got all the toys.”

—æ—

On the other side of the North Atlantic Ocean, in the highlands of Scotland, there was a magical school for magical students. Though each of these students brings something special to the table, we will be paying attention to one in particular.

Harry James Potter was considered to be something of a celebrity throughout the magical world, but inside Hogwarts, he was seen as a peer, a student with stellar marks in both Transfiguration and Charms, an excellent Quidditch player, and—

“Harry James Potter, get your arse over here this instant!”

— so, so dead.

Running through the courtyard at Hogwarts was practically second nature to him, something that Harry was incredibly grateful at this point in his life. He was also incredibly grateful that he left his book bag in the dungeons, as the added weight would’ve ensured that he’d have been caught earlier.

“Come and catch me, Zabini!” Harry shot a grin over his shoulder at the dark-skinned boy chasing him. There was only one other way he would be able to escape — get to the Great Hall.

One of the cons about the Great Hall was that there were a lot of teachers and so you couldn’t do anything risky. One of the pros about the Great Hall was that there were a lot of teachers and so you couldn’t do anything risky, which is exactly what he needed with a vengeful Slytherin on his tail.

Jumping over students’ legs, weaving in and out of crowds, with the wind going through his hair, Harry felt as though he was in the middle of a Quidditch match… all he was missing was a Snitch to chase.

He pushed his way through the crowd trying to get into the Great Hall, earning a few disgruntled looks as he hurried to smooth his hair back and get his breathing down to a normal rate. Still, Harry didn’t try to hide his haste as he made his way over to the Slytherin table.

“Oi, Malfoy,” he called, eying the blonde boy with emerald-lined robes, “hide me, yeah?”

Draco’s eyebrows drew together in the middle. “Hide you from who?”

There was a disturbance behind him, a symphony of startled yelps and screams from the entrance to the Great Hall, and Harry had an inkling as to why, but he was seriously hoping he was wrong.

Harry hurried over and squashed himself between Vince and Greg. “Hide me, yeah?” he asked the both of them, trying to duck his head so Blaise wouldn’t see him.

“Er, sure,” said Vince. He was confused, but he still turned slightly to the side to make his frame bigger. “Anyone in particular I should be looking out for?”

“Yeah—” Harry started.

“POTTER!”

Harry winced. “—him.”

Blaise Zabini shouldered his way through the crowd that had gathered at the entrance to the Great Hall. His dark eyes surveyed the Slytherin table until his gaze landed on his fellow fifth years, and he made his way over to them.

“Emma, darling,” he said as he got closer, speaking to the curly-haired brunette whom he was courting, “have you seen Harry run through here?”

“No, not at all.” Emma Vane used her wand to siphon some honey in a dish to her teacup. “Why are you looking for him?”

Blaise’s eyes glanced around shiftily. “No reason,” he deflected, looking to the Gryffindor table. No doubt he assumed that Harry might’ve hidden with Hermione. “I’ve just got to talk to him is all.”

“Oh,” said Emma, sounding slightly put out, “I’ll let you get back to it, then. Let me know if you need help.”

“Yeah, of course,” said Blaise distractedly. He backed away from the Slytherin table, still scanning for his quarry. Eventually, though, he gave up, turning and jogging back the way he came.

Greg looked up from his copy of _The Daily Prophet._ “You’re clear,” he said, taking a sip from his goblet. “What’s the bee in _his_ bonnet?”

Harry straightened, his spine cracking softly. “I said I’d be a better Chaser than him if I had the chance.”

Pansy Parkinson’s head turned on a swivel. “But you’re Seeker,” she said slowly, as though explaining to a child. “You’ve never played Chaser a day in your life.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, my dad did both,” he said, grabbing a (hopefully) clean knife and dipping it into the dish of orange marmalade, spreading it on the toast Vince had handed to him, “and as far as I know, he did alright. I’ve already beat out Malfoy for Seeker, who says I can’t try for Chaser, too?”

“I do,” said Draco, throwing an orange across the table; Harry caught it in his free hand. “You’ve already stolen Seeker from me, you’re not taking Chaser as well.”

“First of all,” Harry said, using the knife to cut a divot into the orange’s peel, “I _won_ Seeker from you fair and square. You admitted it yourself.”

Draco gave a noncommittal grunt. “I said no such thing…”

“Second of all,” Harry continued, louder than before. “I wouldn’t be going for _your_ position. There are three Chasers on a team, you know. I could always take Pucey’s place.”

Someone behind him snorted. “Not on your life, Potter.” Adrian Pucey clamped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “But I’d love to see you try.”

Harry smirked through a mouthful of toast. “Is that a challenge?”

Adrian threw back his head and laughed. “Run that by Montague at practice this weekend and see what he’ll say.”

Harry nearly choked on his orange. “He’ll never let his starting Seeker try out for another position.”

“You’re damn right I won’t!” Graham Montague, Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, shouted down the table. “Get that rubbish out of your head, Potter. It’ll never happen.”

Harry took an angry bite of his toast, ignoring Draco’s uproarious laughter. Sticking out his tongue at Montague didn’t make him feel any better, so he dipped the last bit of his toast in the orange marmalade, scooping up a big glob of it.

Pansy sniffed haughtily and threw him a napkin. “Clean your face, Harry, you look like a pig!”

“Sorry,” he said, smiling while sheepishly wiping marmalade from the corners of his mouth. “I’m a growing boy, I’ve got to have my nutrition.”

As the Slytherin table quieted down, Harry was about to snatch a blueberry muffin from a platter when Professor Snape emerged from the door beside the Head Table and swooped down upon the fifth year Slytherins.

“Potter,” he said softly, something in his voice sounding… _off._ “The Headmaster wishes to see you in his office.”

Harry couldn’t pretend that didn’t worry him. “Why does he want to see me?” he asked. It was mighty suspicious for Dumbledore to suddenly ask him for a meeting when he had been avoiding contact with him since the end of the previous school year.

“He didn’t deign to tell me.” Snape looked tense, for lack of a better word. While he never looked like he was in a good mood, the corners of his mouth were turned down in a way that indicated that he’d either read one of Ron Weasley’s potion essays, or there was something truly troubling him. “From what I understand, it is a time sensitive matter, Potter, so if you would be so kind..” He stepped back, making room for Harry to extract himself from the bench. “…I will escort you.”

Feeling vaguely like he was being arrested, Harry sent a fleeting glance to Draco, who looked just as confused as he felt. Remembering at the last second, Harry grabbed two blueberry muffins from the dainty looking platter before turning back to Snape.

“For the road,” he said as an explanation, grinning when Snape rolled his eyes.

Despite the two warm muffins in his hands and successfully getting an exasperated sigh out of Snape, Harry couldn’t shake a feeling of dread. He felt like he’d drank the rest of Hermione’s coffee in one go, and he was stuck with the tremors and jumpiness of the caffeine without any of the benefits. Dumbledore hadn’t thought to give him the time of day all summer, not even during Harry’s trial for misuse of magic. So why was he asking for a meeting now? Surely, he couldn’t have found out about — no, Harry couldn’t think about that. He wasn’t skilled enough in Occlumency to be able to shield his mind from Dumbledore, and he couldn’t risk Dumbledore finding out about his… late night excursions.

So as they got closer and closer to Dumbledore’s office in the Headmaster’s tower, climbing the stairs that would lead them to the seventh floor, Harry tried to think of anything besides his midnight training sessions. He thought about Quidditch and how he could try and convince Montague to let him try for Chaser. He thought about the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Dolores Umbridge, and her involvement in his near expulsion months earlier. He thought about the delicious blueberry muffin he still had — as he had already eaten the first one.

Eventually, after walking up seven flights of stairs from the Ground Floor to the West Towers, Harry and Snape reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore’s office.

“Rhubarb bonbon.” Snape sent Harry a scathing look when he almost choked on his muffin. He’d never thought he’d hear Snape utter the word ‘bonbon’.

The stone gargoyle nodded once and jumped aside, revealing the spiral staircase that led to the top of the Headmaster’s Tower. Harry started walking up the stairs, but turned when he realized Snape wasn’t following him.

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

Snape shook his head. “My instructions were to deliver you to the Headmaster’s office, not babysit.”

Harry rolled his eyes as discreetly as he could and continued walking up the stairs, only stopping when Snape called out “Potter!” Harry turned, expecting to be reprimanded for his cheek, an apology already on his lips, but he stopped short.

Snape’s dark eyes had a look in them that Harry didn’t recognize. It was almost regretful? “Be very cautious, Potter,” he said. “I sense something important shall happen soon.”

Harry grinned, despite the gears beginning to turn in his head. “I didn’t know you were taking over Divination from Trelawney, Professor. I might actually enjoy the class with you teaching it.”

“Silence,” Snape hissed at him, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. With a flourish of his robes, the Potions professor turned on his heel and walked back toward the Great Hall.

Shaking his head, Harry ruminated on why there were so many stairs on Hogwarts. Just to get to class he must walk up nearly ten flights of stairs, depending on the day. And now he had to walk up seven more just to meet with the suddenly courteous Headmaster.

 _Today is going to be a strange day_ , Harry thought as he reached the top of the staircase, fighting to catch his breath. Smoothing back his hair (the damn mop never seemed to stay in one place for more than five seconds), Harry knocked twice on the heavy door.

—æ—

On the Helicarrier’s bridge, Captain Steve Rogers was making small talk with Agent Phil Coulson.

“I mean, if it’s not too much trouble.” Coulson was saying, the size difference between him and the Captain laughable.

“No, no.” Rogers looked a bit uncomfortable, but he put on a smile anyway. “It’s fine.”  
Coulson nodded. “It’s a vintage set,” he said, unable to contain his excitement. “It took me a couple of years to collect them all. Near mint, slight foxing around the edges, but—”

“We got a hit!” A bald agent with glasses turned in his chair, a frantic look on his face. “A 67% match!” As everyone turned to look at him, his computer beeped again. “Wait, a second match at 54%. This time in… Scotland?”

Fury seemed to take this in stride, tapping a few times on the screens in front of him. “Location of both?”

“The first one is now a 79% match in Stuttgart, Germany. 28 Konigstrasse. Second one matches old security footage from a shop in Surrey, London from about 8 and a half months ago. “ He shook his head. “Looks like a kid, probably a glitch or something.”

Fury narrowed his eyes and a crease formed between his eyebrows. “Did you say Surrey?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s the name?”

“Harry James Potter. It says he attends a private school in Scotland. The name is… redacted?”

Fury sighed. “Of course it’s him,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll get in touch with some people so we can talk to him.”

“Sir?” The agent looked confused. “You want to interrogate him? He’s just a normal kid.”

“You see how much he looks like him, Sitwell,” said Fury, motioning to the screens in front of him, which were now being projected in front of the entire bridge. There were two pictures: one of Loki with his blue eyes and black hair, and another of a fifteen-year-old with green eyes and black hair. Their bone structure, brow placement, and lips were all the same.

It was like looking at the same person, but 20 years later.

“If my memory serves, there’s nothing normal about this kid. Coulson?”

“Yes, sir?”

“We’ll need to get in touch with the British Ministry.”

“Sir.” Agent Maria Hill looked up at him from the lower section of the Helicarrier’s bridge. “You can’t mean what I think you mean.

“Yes, I am, Hill.” Fury pressed a button on his screen. “There’s no way this is a coincidence. Mr. Potter may not be related to this at all, but it won’t hurt to question him.” Fury turned to Hill, giving her a look.

“Put me in touch with President Makayla Gonzalez of the MACUSA.”

—æ—

“Come in.”

“You’ve torn me away from my muffins, Professor!” Harry kicked the door closed behind him, finishing the last of his remaining muffin. “You’re lucky I was able to nick a few before—”

Harry stopped short. Dumbledore’s office was as it had always been, with silver machines whirring and emitting puffs of smoke at odd times. Except this time, Dumbledore was hosting three other people.

One of them was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. He’d been labelling Harry as an attention-seeking criminal for the better part of the last year. Harry was not pleased to see him at all, something that Fudge must’ve picked up on because he (like Dumbledore) was avoiding Harry’s gaze. He ignored them.

Harry only recognized one of the other two people in the room, and he went to greet her first.

“Madam President,” he said, extending a hand to Makayla Gonzalez, the elected official in charge of whatever the Americans had in place of a Ministry of Magic. “I don’t believe we’ve met. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”

“The honor is mine, Mr. Potter. It’s a shame it’s taken so long for us to meet.” Gonzalez smiled at him, her brown eyes crinkling around the edges. “Especially since I hear you’re beginning to get into politics.”

Harry’s smile widened and he laughed. “I daresay you’ll be seeing much more of me in the coming years.”

He ignored the panicked look Fudge sent Dumbledore, instead moving to greet the dark-skinned man who he didn’t know.

Harry stuck out a hand. “I’m afraid we haven’t met, mister…”

“Director,” the man corrected, shaking his hand firmly. “Director Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up without his permission. “S.H.I.E.L.D?” He turned to President Gonzalez. “The American organization?”

She nodded, sending a look to Dumbledore. Harry risked a glance; Dumbledore still wasn’t making eye contact with him. A spark of anger threatened to light a fire, but Harry clenched his jaw. Now was not the time for an outburst. Instead, he gave the Headmaster a tight-lipped smile and a small bow.

“You requested to see me, Headmaster?”

“Yes, dear boy,” said Dumbledore, the look on his face making Harry think that Christmas was cancelled. “Director Fury is asking that you go with him on a little field trip of sorts, to sort out a technology glitch within S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Harry’s eyebrows drew together. “A technology glitch?” He turned to Fury, his curiosity overtaking his politeness. “What does a ‘technology glitch’ that happened within an American organization have to do with me?”

“If I may,” began Fudge, “the boy is known for his theatrics, Director Fury, perhaps he ought to be punished at the criminal level—”

“Ah, Minister Fudge,” Harry said, turning slowly. Fudge was still trying to chuck him in the madhouse, then? We’ll see about that…“I’d forgotten you were here.”

Both Fudge and Dumbledore physically recoiled as if struck, and turned to look at him with thinly-veiled surprise. Harry kept his face neutral, despite the smirk that was forming on Director Fury’s face.

“You’ve got yourself on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar, Mr. Potter. I have to bring you in to our field office in New York.”

It was Harry’s turn to be surprised. “New York?” He looked to Dumbledore, who was examining one of the ornaments on his desk. With a huff, Harry turned back to Fury. “Normally field trips don’t go across oceans. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“As a national security matter, the rest of the information regarding this mission is classified. I’ll brief you on the way back to headquarters.”

Harry pursed his lips together. This sounded a lot like he didn’t have a choice in the matter. “Am I under arrest, Director Fury?” he asked. His bluntness had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, but Fury seemed to appreciate it.

“No, Mr. Potter,” he said, looking down at him menacingly with the eye that wasn’t covered with a patch. “Just think of this as me bringing you in for questioning.”

“So I’m a suspect,” said Harry. “At the very least, a person of interest.” He laughed softly. “What kind of technology glitch is this?” As much as Harry would love to have an excuse to turn in Snape’s essay late, taking a trip to a whole other country seemed a bit too convenient.

“You aren’t a suspect, Mr. Potter.” Fury held up some heavy duty handcuffs and just the sight of them made Harry feel nauseous for some reason. “But if you don’t come with me, I’ll be forced to treat you like one.”

Harry exhaled through his nose. This was not how he expected the day to go. For all intents and purposes, he was being arrested by a foreign official who suspected him of some crime that happened in a whole different country. There weren’t many viable options.

“It doesn’t seem like I have a choice in the matter,” he said, gritting his teeth. He had to play along. Those handcuffs didn’t look like something he was wiling to mess with. “Will you at least let me pack a few things? I’d hate to walk around New York in my uniform.”

Fury nodded. “Go ahead,” he said, putting the handcuffs back on his belt, “Meet me at the main entrance in half an hour. Don’t make me look for you.” With that, Fury and the American President swept out of the office, with Gonzalez giving Harry a small wave.

Immediately, Fudge swooped down on him.

“I don’t know what you’ve done, boy, but rest assured, I _will_ find out.”

The complete Uncle Vernon-ness of his sentence left Harry in stunned silence.

**Author's Note:**

> 3,694 words


End file.
